The Displaced
by Five Minute Obsessions
Summary: -"It's hard when you can't go home." After receiving a distress signal, the Enterprise picks up a strange, disturbed passenger, and the crew is forced to figure out how to cope with her erratic - and occasionally violent - behaviour. Firefly crossover.
1. Drift

**Displaced**, _-adj._

Lacking a home or country.

...

* * *

Somewhere deep within the infinitely vast reaches of space, a sleek, gleaming white starcraft known as the _USS Enterprise _glid languidly through the blackness, cutting silently through the star-scattered vacuum. As it moved, its mountainous shadow fell across a minuscule dot of a vessel no larger than one of the billion pinpricks of light winking in the far distance, eclipsing the smaller ship in darkness. The tiny craft hovered beneath its hulking counterpart, drifting helplessly through space like a mote of dust suspended on air.

"Captain, we're receiving a distress signal," Sulu announced aboard the bridge of the Enterprise, eyes trained on the glowing neon readouts scrolling across the control panel in front of him. The ship's computer beeped affirmatively, confirming the helmsman's announcement. The other officers and helmsmen on the bridge—Spock, Uhura and Chekhov—glanced up from their stations in interest at this news.

"Oh we are, are we?" Captain James T. Kirk drawled lazily. He was slouched backwards in his captain's chair, jigging one leg up and down absently, knees spread apart in an uncouth posture which Officer Spock privately considered most unbefitting of a captain. He'd been resting the curve of his jaw in the palm of one thick-knuckled hand, but at Sulu's declaration he sat up somewhat, straightening his spine into an upright position much more becoming of the _homo sapiens _species than the one he had been in a moment previously. "Well whadda you know, fellas, we've got ourselves our first distress signal!" He grinned saucily, chomping loudly on a bit of gum he'd been chewing on for the past three hours straight. "What can you tell me about its source, Sulu?"

"Coming off the starboard bow, Captain, and issuing from a small unidentified vessel that appears to have no life support…" A frown creased Sulu's young Asian face. "…and no warp drive."

"No _warp drive?_" Kirk repeated incredulously, sharing in his helmsman's bemusement.

"Not only that," Sulu continued, eyes transfixed by the readings pouring out on the panel in front of him, "but the distress signal itself is highly unusual. It appears to be in some bizarre format. If it wasn't so basic, I doubt our ship's computer would've even recognized it as an SOS. The vessel itself isn't in Starfleet's database." Sulu looked up and swiveled his chair to face Kirk. "Captain, we may be dealing with something completely—forgive me for the use of the word—_alien _here."

"How long have they been without life support?"

"Three days, sir. I'm reading a single life sign, so whoever's in there is still breathing... for now."

Kirk pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. "Huh," he mused. "You'd think our first distress signal, we wouldn't have to play guessing games who was on the other line!"

Over at his station, Spock exhaled heavily yet inaudibly through his nose. "Might I suggest we hail them, Captain?" He spoke suddenly with the manner of faultless, infinite calm and patience in the face of incredible intellectual ineptitude that came so naturally to him when he was addressing Kirk.

"Now don't you think that might be dangerous, Spock?" Kirk asked, spinning around lackadaisically in his seat. "There could be a pack of vicious Klingons in there, or, you know what—that tiny little shipping vessel could be just _stuffed full _of angry Romulans just waiting to break out their photon torpedo blasters and turn us into so much space dust."

"Your caution is commendable, but I find that _highly _unlikely, Captain."

Kirk's face split into a goofball grin. Out of the corner of his eye, Spoke caught Uhura attempting to hide a smile behind her cupped hand. "I'm _joking, _Spock. Lighten up, wouldja? Don't Vulcans have, like, a _semblance _of a sense of humour?"

"_No._"

Kirk rolled his eyes pointedly at his first officer. "Go ahead and hail them, Sulu."

"Sir." Sulu's hands worked over his console, attempting to open a channel with the vessel sending out the distress signal. Silence settled over the crew, and a tinge of anticipation hung in the air as they awaited the reply of the mystery shuttle, the miniature anomaly that they'd happened across, floating in the black, and there was just enough time for the crew to begin wondering how such a little ship with no warp drive had found itself so deep in the middle of nowhere. Sulu was just opening his mouth to inform the Captain that there was no response when the inky black stretch of stars before them abruptly blotted out to a view of the interior of what the Captain assumed was the vessel's cockpit. The transmission was black and white and scratchy, and the darkened cockpit, rimmed with shadows in the absence of emergency power for the lights, appeared empty. There were no crew members, not a soul in sight; the ship was empty, still. Kirk felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He found this vaguely unsettling.

"Can we get a better picture?" He asked his helmsman.

"Negative, Captain. The transmission they've established is… very exotic." Sulu frowned again at his control panel. "With the way their communications system is programmed, we're lucky our technologies are compatible at all."

"This is too weird…" Kirk muttered, rising from his chair as he peered at the dark, shadowy interior of the silent ship. "Hello?" He called. "This is James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise. We received your distress signal and thought whoever's in there might need some help." He stared at the screen for a moment, unchanged except for the grainy flicker of the transmission. "Hellooooo?" Kirk tried again. "Anyone there?"

There was no reply. "Well, this su-" Kirk started, but he was interrupted by a sudden, ear-piercing shriek. Everyone on the bridge jumped about a foot out of their chairs (even Spock flinched noticeably) as a large, dark shape threw itself violently at the screen, its two huge, wide, penetrating eyes staring deliriously into the camera. It took Kirk a second to realize that the thing was a girl—and a _human _girl, at that, a genre he considered himself quite familiar with—her hair hanging limply on either side of her white, gaunt face. The crew stared at her for a moment, frozen in shock, as she exhaled static, her ragged breathing crackling and popping over the transmission.

"_I can see you,_" she whispered.

Captain Kirk swallowed the lump that had risen unexpectedly in his throat and tried to ignore his heart pounding against his ribcage. "Miss," he started, "my name is James T. Kirk and I'm Captain of the Starfleet vessel the USS Enter-"

"_Get me ooooout!_" The girl screamed into the screen, causing everyone to flinch again, and she began to babble frantically and incoherently. "Ican'tgoback, don'tmakemegoback, I'll die in there, _they'll kill me!_ They strap you, strap you in, strap you down, stick needlesmosquitos in your—in their hair. Mosquitoes in my hair and eyes and—and they say they're_ immuh--immunizing_ you, _protecting _you, that s'for your own _good,_ but they're _liars, _they suck things out, they don't put things in, they suck the _life_ out of you and put _death _in its place! There's death in here! _Get me out!_ Won't somebody—" her voice cracked into a hoarse whisper. "—please help me?" Tears beaded in her eyes and caught the starlight, making them shine. Kirk stood rigidly staring at the girl, muscles tense, his back and jaw set.

Spock eyed Kirk warily, knowing from the way the Captain stood that he was about to do something impulsive and foolhardy. He was not disappointed.

"Beam her aboard," he ordered. Spock rose quickly from his chair.

"If I may speak, Captain—" he began urgently.

"No, you may not," Kirk cut him off, striding briskly through the sliding doors from the bridge into the hallway. After a beat, Spock sprung after him, the girl's wild dark eyes leering imploringly after them. He matched the Captain's urgent pace, a steely glint of determination in his narrowed eyes.

"Captain!" Spock called as Kirk stepped into the elevator at the end of the narrow hall, bolting after his superior and slipping lithely between the sleek white elevator doors just as they snapped shut. Kirk shot Spock an impatient glance with a hint of annoyance, a look that, unbeknownst to him, caused the Vulcan's blood to quietly begin to boil. "Didn't you just express concern, Captain, regarding the nature of that vessel's occupants?"

"Yeah, but this is _serious,_ Spock. Who authorized you to leave your station?" Kirk demanded brusquely, punching one of the glowing neon buttons on the elevator panel with his thumb. As if sensing the Captain's urgency, the elevator jolted and hastily began to whisk the two men to the transport bay.

"Forgive me for this transgression, sir," Spock said, sounding calm and not the least bit apologetic, "But I simply felt it pertinent to remind you that when a crew is responding to a distress signal, Starfleet protocol—"

"Starfleet protocol says _what, _Spock?" Kirk snapped suddenly, rounding angrily on the Vulcan. "That we're not allowed to help someone in trouble? See, last time _I _checked protocol, it said we're supposed to offer assistance to those in distress if it doesn't pose immediate undue risk to us. And the way I see it, here we are in a nice, big, shiny ship with plenty of room and valuable commodities like, I dunno, _air_, and there _she _is, floating helplessly with no one in that ship but her—"

"Starfleet protocol _also _advises us to treat distress signals with caution," Spock resumed, calmly as ever, and with the air of one explaining simple concepts to a small, impetuous child. Now it was Kirk whose blood began to boil. "There are certain unseemly characters in the galaxy, Captain—Klingon marauders, interstellar pirates—more than willing to take advantage of those with good intentions." The elevator slid to a stop and the doors peeled back on the transporter bay. Kirk strode forward without a pause with Spock keeping relentlessly in step. "I am simply urging you, Captain, to think through the situation logically and assess the risk factors before pursuing your next course of action. I might remind you that we have very little information on this stranger that you are beaming aboard the Enterprise."

"Damn it, Spock!" Kirk burst out, coming to a dead halt and whirling on his first officer once again. Spock observed the Captain's sweaty palms clenching and unclenching into fists, as if he were about to threaten the Vulcan with physical violence—but Kirk didn't bother, as both of them were grimly aware of which one of them would win in a fair fight. Instead, the Captain fought to lower his voice and fixed Spock with a harsh, fiery state. "There's a girl on board that vessel who's been stranded in the middle of space for three days with no life support. That is all the information I need. _Chekov!_" He roared suddenly, slapping the Starfleet insignia communicator on his chest. "Do you have a lock on her?"

"Aye aye, Capteen!" Pavel replied cheerfully.

"Beam her aboard," Kirk ordered. Spock slowly turned his head to fix his gaze on the transport pad, where the shape of the mysterious wild-eyed girl that had appeared on the viewscreen a moment before was beginning to materialize before his and the Captain's grim stares; crouched, hunched over, contorted into an ugly posture that was pained and broken and barely humanoid.

"You would do well, Captain," Spock said quietly, "not to judge so much based on appearances."

**...  
**

* * *

_Author's note: Thank you for reading the first chapter. For all those who may be concerned, the girl the Enterprise has picked up is not an original character, though I don't want to spoil anything quite yet. If you care to leave feedback, whether it be unadultered praise or unflinching criticism, I would be very appreciative. Once again, thank you for giving this story your time!_


	2. Crash Landing

_And maybe you should sleep_

_And maybe you just need… a friend._

—"Clumsy", Our Lady Peace

* * *

Once she had finished solidifying, the girl didn't appear nearly as horrifying as she had over the grainy monochrome transmission—but she was still an alarming sight in her dirty, ragged dress, her matted hair hanging like two dark, limp, greasy curtains on either side of her face, her eyes wide and cold and staring. Her gaze darted around the transporter bay in panic and confusion and she burst into another ear-piercing screech. Kirk winced and covered his ears. Spock flinched ever so slightly. She began to hyperventilate, sucking in quick, panicky breaths through her nostrils, her face a mask of frightened confusion. "Hey, now," Kirk soothed, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a placatory gesture. "It's okay. We picked up your distress signal and beamed you aboard."

"Try to be calm," Spock suggested helpfully.

"Where am I?" The girl whimpered.

"You're on the Enterprise," Kirk informed her. She froze suddenly and slowly scanned her surroundings, observing the inside of the transportation bay—the transport pad she found herself standing upon, the lights overhead, the control panel with its various buttons and switches—before her eyes came to rest on Kirk and Spock for the first time, taking in the two men in their crisp uniforms. Her face hardened. She chuckled softly. "I know who you are. You think I don't know who you are?" She gestured accusingly at them. "Sneaky Alliance sons of bitches."

"_What?_" Kirk blurted, bewildered.

"Stay back!" She warned, taking a few paces backwards on the transport pad. The machine beneath her haloed her bare feet in a milky blue glow. "You're not taking me back to the blue room with the electric pain. You're not cutting into me again!"

"Calm down, we're _not _gonna hurt you!" Kirk pleaded, dismayed. He clambered up onto the transport stage, hands out, palms up, hoping to reassure her.

"Captain, I would advise against that," Spock said loudly. "She is obviously delusional. We may have to sedate her."

"_No!_" She screamed, her expression contorting into manic rage. "I'm not your rag doll! I'm not your puppet! You're not taking me back there without a fight!" The muscles in her body tensed and she sprung forward like a wild cat, murder in her red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh, for God's sa-" Kirk choked as the girl kicked him in the stomach, hard, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling off the stage. She watched the Captain groan and clutch his stomach before turning, menacingly, towards Spock.

"Computer, erect a Level 3 force field around the transport pad," Spock shouted quickly. A mechanical buzz sounded as the girl's body smacked against the force field, mid-leap, as she attempted to pounce on Spock. Her ragged scream of frustration rent the air as she picked herself back up, thrusting her hand against the field as if she could penetrate it by sheer force of will, face twisting into an angry snarl as she pounded both fists against it and then collapsed, sobbing, as if every bone in her body had been snapped and lay in a jagged heap inside of her. Kirk managed to pick himself back up and watched her for a moment, wondering what to do with the miserable, wretched creature in front of them. Spock's usual aura of detached calm betrayed nothing.

"Jesus," Kirk muttered. His face had paled noticeably. "What are we gonna do with her?"

"_Big brother…_" the girl wailed desolately.

"I would advise against removing the force field until she has achieved a more rational state of mind," Spock said soberly. Frowning, Kirk crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, but how long will _that _take? We can't just leave her there."

"Indeed, we cannot," Spock agreed, eyeing the girl with what might have been disdain.

"We'll round up the crew and have a discussion about how to help out our newest… _arrival,_" Kirk said decisively. "In the mean time, 'till we figure out what to do, Spock, you'll keep an eye on her and hope she comes to her senses."

Spock slowly raised one eyebrow at the Captain. "I am curious, sir, as to why you believe I would be the best person to assign to that task.

He hefted his shoulders up and down in a shrug. "Well, 'cause," Kirk replied, smirking, "If she tries to maul you, you can always use that nerve-pinchy thing on her."

Spock fixed the Captain with a chilly gaze and Kirk grinned at him toothily. "Good luck, Mr. Spock," Kirk declared, slapping his first officer on the back, and promptly strode out. Spock followed the Captain with his penetrating stare until the doors to the transportation bay swished shut behind him, then returned his attention to the girl slumped in a broken heap on the transporter pad.

"_Big brother!_" she moaned again forlornly.

Spock exhaled heavily through his nostrils in what almost might have been an exasperated sigh.

**…**

The First Officer of the Enterprise glanced around, surveying the quiet, nearly-empty mess hall. It was 06:00 hours, and Spock was one of the few crew members on the Enterprise to rise this early in the morning. He much preferred it this way, as the mess hall was peaceful and free of the noises and distractions that came with the other crew members filing in, filling their breakfast trays at the Replicator and hoping to squeeze in some social interaction before beginning their duties for the day. Another added benefit of dining early was that Spock was accustomed to sitting at the same table by the wall every morning—a fact that Captain Kirk had noticed and commented on, and Spock was quite certain that Kirk would no doubt jump at the chance to occupy his favourite table, given the opportunity, just to try and provoke annoyance in him—_if, _that was, the Captain could ever rouse himself before Spock, and everyone on the crew knew that Kirk had a horrible propensity to sleeping in late.

In fact, the only other early riser on the ship that Spock routinely saw in the mess hall at this hour was a blonde cadet of whose name he was uncertain. Somehow she always managed to beat him to the Replicator every morning. Every day he would find her ordering her breakfast and pick out a clean tray from the stack by the Replicator, then wait patiently for her to finish obtaining her meal. Every day while she waited for her food to materialize, she would glance up at him, give him a small smile, and greet him with, "Good morning, Commander Spock."

"Good morning, cadet," he would politely reply, nodding in acknowledgement. Then she would take her tray to her table (she also favoured sitting in the same spot every day) and, once he had ordered his meal, he to his, and that would be the extent of their interaction.

Spock had no clue as to what the Cadet's name might be.

The day after the wild-eyed girl had arrived on Enterprise, he sat alone at his usual table, examining a readout on a thin, handheld computer screen of the specifications of the small vessel they had encountered. As usual, he ignored the babble of the other crew members as they began filing in—but when someone slid into the dining chair opposite his, Spock looked up. It was Ensign Chekov. He set down the readout screen.

"Hello, Ensign."

"Hallo, Commander Spock." He nodded nervously. "Um, I vas vondering if I could 'ave a vord vith you?"

"Of course," Spock replied, wondering what Chekov wished to bring up with him. He didn't know the Ensign very well, except that he was the crew's youngest member and exceptionally skilled in mathematics.

"Um, vell," Chekov stuttered, examining the table intently. "I am—I mean, I vos—vell, I just vanted to say that I am wery sorry about vhat happened to your mother. You see, sir, vhile your planet Wulcan vas being destroyed by the singularity, I vas at the control panel in the transportation bay trying to save you and your family—I vas told at Starfleet Academy during our courses that I had particular skill in locking on to moving targets, you see—"

"Yes, I have been informed of this," Spock broke in calmly. "Please continue, Ensign."

"Um, vell, as you know, then, I vas unable to save your mother." He bowed his head, and Spock saw the boy's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed apprehensively. "So you see, I feel that I am at least partially responsible for her—for your loss. And I vanted to say… I am sorry."

Silence stretched out between them, and the babble of talk rising from the crew members around them crept in. Spock stared down at his half-eaten breakfast, trying to decide how to respond, knowing that every moment he hesitated the boy sitting opposite him became increasingly tense. Finally, he looked up. "Your apology is unnecessary, Ensign," he said slowly, his voice steady, cool, controlled. "My mother's death had nothing to do with your abilities. Even if the most skilled person in Starfleet were operating that control panel, they could not have prevented what happened. Our transporters simply are not capable of locking on to rapidly moving targets—or they were not, at least. Assigning blame to yourself would be superfluous. Rest assured, I do hold you responsible in the least for what happened. I do, however, appreciate your concern."

His tone was smooth, unaffected, and impeccably flawless with his usual cool Vulcan veneer. Yet still the boy seemed ill at ease and failed to meet his eyes, glancing up timidly then quickly looking away again.

"Ah, vell. I hope you vill accept my condolences, Commander." Chekov blinked rapidly.

"Thank you, Ensign. Was that all you wished to discuss?"

"Yes, sir," he said, rising.

"A good day to you, then."

"You too, sir."

Ensign Chekov left hastily. Spock returned to his breakfast. He picked up his fork again only to discover that his hand was trembling so violently he was incapable of holding it steady, so he set the utensil back down carefully on the side of his tray. Spock realized he was no longer hungry, and decided that half of his normal breakfast intake would be sufficient for today.

Four minutes later, Spock rose and left his table.

…

Kirk drummed the digits of his left hand on the stainless steel table in the mess hall boredly while holding a fork and absent-mindedly pushing the remnants of his breakfast around with his right. The Captain's eyes were lazy and unfocused. He seemed to be paying little attention to the burble of conversation arising from the Enterprise's crew members around him.

"I've always thought there was somethin' a little bit off aboot Replicator food, ey?" Mused Scotty, examining the bit of scrambled egg speared on the end of his fork contemplatively. "Yoo think it's a mechanical problem, or yoo just can't beat the real thing? How 'bout it, Bones?"

Doctor McCoy glanced up from the digital handheld medical dictionary he was studying and glared at Scotty impatiently. "How the hell would I know? I'm a doctor, not a food critic."

"What's yoor opinion on the matter, Chekov?" Scotty shot at the young Ensign as he set his tray down at the end of the long metal table where Kirk, Doctor McCoy and Scotty himself were seated.

Pavel looked up distractedly. "Ah, vell, I think eet tastes alright."

"You're awfully quiet this mornin', Cap'n," Scotty commented, elbowing Kirk gently in the ribs.

"Uncharacteristically so," McCoy added, still studying the handheld.

"Somethin' on yer mind, Cap'n?"

"Oh, you know," Kirk said vaguely, scooping up a forkful of eggs. "Captainy things."

Bones studied Kirk out of the corner of his eye thoughtfully for a moment, as if pondering what exactly 'captainy things' might entail, then clapped Kirk firmly on the shoulder. "Captain," he said solemnly, "you did the right thing by bringing that girl on board."

Kirk stared at the doctor for a moment and sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his forehead wearily. "Have you seen her, Bones? She's a trainwreck," he said bluntly.

"Funny yoo still hear that word tossed aboot, 'trainwreck'. Back on Earth there 'asn't been a workin' train in the world for maybe a hoondred an' fifty years," Scotty mused. "Shame, too. They were some beautiful machines."

Everyone else at the table decided to ignore him for the sake of continuity in the conversation.

"Jim, even if she was the devil incarnate, you couldn't have just left her there," Bones countered. "She's—Ensign, how old are you?"

Chekov glanced up from his omelette. "Seventeen, sir."

"She can't be older than about Chekov's age," McCoy continued. "Which is pretty damn young. No offense, Ensign."

"None taken, sir," Pavel replied, seeming to perk up slightly at this, apparently deciding, somehow, that Doctor McCoy's comment was a compliment.

Kirk examined his reflection in the back of his fork. "I know all that, Doc," he said impatiently, "but if you'd been in the same room with her for—I dunno, thirty seconds?—you'd know what I mean when I use the word 'trainwreck'. _This _guy knows what I'm talking about," Kirk added suddenly, straightening in his chair as Lieutenant Sulu crossed his line of vision, scouting the mess hall for a free table with his breakfast tray in hand. "Hey, Sulu!" Kirk called. The Lieutenant glanced up, spotted the captain, and quickly crossed the room to slide into the empty seat opposite him.

"Yes, sir?"

"You saw our… charming new arrival last night, right Lieutenant?" Kirk inquired.

"Yes, sir."

"You were the one I assigned to ask her who she is and figure out where she comes from so that we can take her back there. Correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did that go for you, Sulu?"

Sulu paused, biting his lip thoughtfully. "I believe she threatened to kill me with her brain."

Kirk crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Doctor McCoy glanced from the Captain, to Sulu, to back to the Captain again. "Well, I wish you luck with this one, Jim!" He said cheerfully, gathering up his digital handheld and his tray. "Just remember, Captain: You did the right thing." With that, he rose and promptly left the table.

Kirk glanced around at the Ensign and the Lieutenant remaining at his table. Chekov was sitting silently and picking at the remainder of his omelette, lost in his own thoughts. "How's she doing now, Captain?" Sulu asked.

"Dunno. Spock's bringing her breakfast this morning. Maybe he'll have more luck." Kirk smirked.

…

Perched upon a gleaming stainless steel tray was a ceramic plate stacked with three slices of buttered whole wheat toast, two large pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, a glass of orange juice and a shiny red apple. Strictly speaking, the pancakes were not of great nutritional value, but judging by her gaunt face and thin frame, and the fact that she had behaving too violently to be offered any food the night before, Spock had assessed that the girl in the transportation bay would require additional nourishment.

Though he had never admitted it to anybody, Spock himself was quite fond of pancakes. His mother had used to cook them for him from scratch as a child.

As he strode from the mess hall into the elevator, breakfast tray in hand, he found himself feeling slightly foolish, especially when the elevator doors slid open to reveal Officer Uhura standing inside. She bit back a grin when she saw him carrying the breakfast tray. "Eating in your quarters today, Officer?" She asked conversationally.

"No," Spock replied tightly. "The captain insists I be the one to attend to the girl who was beamed aboard the ship yesterday. He believes that becoming familiar with one of the crew members will help her become comfortable in her new environment, and that I am the crew member best equipped to handle her."

"So Captain Kirk's trying to get to you again, huh?" Uhura surmised. Spock didn't say anything, but shot her a meaningful glance. "Cheer up, Spock," she grinned. "There are worse things than having to bring a crazy little girl breakfast, right?"

"I am certain," Spock answered dryly.

The elevator slid to a halt at his stop, and Spock stepped off and made for the transportation bay. When the doors to the bay parted for him at his voice command, he advanced cautiously and was pleasantly surprised to find the girl not shouting, wailing, screeching, or throwing herself against the force field, as she had done all throughout the previous night, but sitting quietly with her back against the wall, her thin arms wrapped around her knees. As Spock entered, she fixed him with a wary, searching gaze but remained still. Her dark brown eyes were tired and blank. Spock gazed back at her steadily for a moment, seemingly unaffected by her penetrating stare, perhaps waiting for her to explode into hysterics once again. To his mild relief, she did nothing of the sort, but simply sat there, looking at him. Finally, he spoke.

"I imagine you must be hungry," Spock said in his usual casually detached air. "We weren't able to offer you any sustenance last night, as you kept threatening to attack all who came near you. Of course, 'day' and 'night' are illusions aboard a spacecraft, but most of the crew members feel more… _comfortable _adhering to a twenty-four-hour schedule. We consider the current hour to be morning, so I fixed you breakfast." He paused. His words seemed to provoke no reaction from her, hostile or otherwise, but he imagined the manner in which she eyed the food on the tray was with faint longing.

"I am going to lower the force field now," Spock said carefully. "I believe it would be in both of our best interests if you did not attack me."

"Because orange juice spills," she spoke up suddenly, taking him slightly by surprise. "Wouldn't want to get it all over your nice, blue uniform, now would we?"

Spock wasn't quite sure how to react to this, so he didn't. "Computer, remove the force field around the transport pad. Authorization: ZZ Alpha."

With a dull, sizzling zap, the field disappeared in a quick white flash of energy. The girl still made no move towards him. Gingerly, he set the tray down in front of her and waited. When she still didn't get up, Spock sat hesitantly on the edge of the transport pad in what he vaguely hoped was an inviting, nonthreatening gesture. Seconds ticked past before the girl finally rose, padded across the stage, and crouched down by the tray, sneaking quick, suspicious glances at Spock as she did so. For a moment, she simply stared at the cooling food. "Where did you get all this?" She asked.

"From the Replicator in the mess hall," Spock replied. She frowned and looked up at him sharply.

"Replicator?"

"You are unfamiliar with the technology?" Spock frowned inwardly, trying to think of a way to explain the functioning of a Replicator to someone who obviously lacked a proper education. No doubt she originated on some obscure, technologically backwards Earth colony. "It is a device able to artificially replicate small amounts of matter by using large quantities of energy to—"

"Makes food out of nothing," she interrupted, taking her finger and dipping it into the maple syrup pooling over the stack of pancakes onto the side of the plate. She swirled it around absent-mindedly.

"In simplified terms… yes." Spock allowed himself to relax somewhat. So far, the girl had shown no signs of lapsing back into her earlier unmanageable behaviour, and her ability to carry on a fairly coherent (if pointless) conversation was oddly reassuring. After the hysterics of the previous night, he was surprised to find her guarded easiness in his presence slightly disarming. "I hope you will excuse the lack of cutlery. The Captain advised me not to give you anything sharp."

"That's okay," she said. She reached down and delicately tore off a fluffy hunk of pancake, as if her thin, brittle fingers were as elegant utensils as any fork and knife. She popped it in her mouth and chewed. "I like pancakes, too."

Spock wasn't quite sure what she meant by that.

Minutes ticked away in tense (yet not entirely uncomfortable) silence as the girl ate her breakfast. She began with the pancakes, finished with the stack and moved on to the toast, eating in a slow, methodical, civilized manner, occasionally taking small, polite sips from her orange juice. Spock watched to ensure she didn't throw the tray against the wall or do anything of a similarly violent and messy nature.

It was only when she was halfway through her second slice of toast that he spoke again. "I do not believe I have introduced myself. I am Commander Spock, First Officer aboard the _Enterprise._"

She looked up at him shortly and returned to her breakfast as if he was telling her something she already knew or didn't particularly care about. Apparently she didn't take the hint, so he added, "It would be helpful to the Captain and I if we knew _your _name."

All at once, the girl's face darkened. A shadow passed over her eyes and she froze, lowering the half-finished slice of toast that she'd lifted halfway to her mouth back on the tray. "You know who I am," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Spock said mildly. Her head shot up and she fixed him with a cold, hard stare.

"You _know _who I am," she insisted accusingly.

"I can assure you," he calmly replied, "I do not."

She glared at him a moment longer before the venom seemed to seep out of her, seeing he was telling the truth. She relaxed again. Pulling her skinny legs to her chest and wrapping her equally skinny arms around herself, the girl rested her head on her knees and gazed at Spock sideways.

"My name's River Tam," she murmured. "You can stop thinking of me as 'the girl' now."

For the first time, she smiled.

**...  


* * *

**

_Author's note: I would like to thank the people who reviewed last chapter - Luminaires, Villainous, Psychodahlia, The Anonymous Authoress, SpirkTrekker42, dragonwitch250 and hpets. And yes, virtual cookies awarded to Luminaires, Villainous and The Anonymous Authoress for guessing who the girl is, though I must admit it's not exactly a great big mystery for those who've watched the series she originates from. I would also like to thank the people who didn't review but were interested enough in the beginning to put this story on their watch list - I just hope I've kept your attention with the second chapter! Once again, if you, dear reader, care to leave feedback, it would make the writer in me a very happy person. I'd love to hear what everyone thinks, especially when it comes to the characterization - characterization is most important to me._

_Anyways, thanks once again!_


	3. Starchild

_Do I need you to make me real_

_Like Wheeler spinning his own wheel?_

_Quantum strings within my brain,_

_Popping sanities insane…_

—"Nobody", Five for Fighting

* * *

Nyota Uhura shot a quick, watchful glance over her shoulder at the empty white hall leading to the transportation bay. The busy hustle of crew members coming and going down the long, narrow hall had, for the moment, subsided. Trying not to look _too _suspicious, she quietly slipped through the sliding doors and allowed them to hiss shut behind her. She stepped forward slowly, cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the darkness inside the bay, looking around for the girl named River Tam. Her gaze fixed on a girl-sized lump of matted hair and dirty clothing sprawled out on the transportation pad, bright fluorescent lights overhead contrasting starkly with her grungy, earthy appearance. The girl was curled up on her side, the glow of the transportation pad beneath her illuminating the side of her face with a faint blue glow. Nyota first thought she was asleep and turned quietly to go, but then she spoke and the communications officer started and whirled back around in surprise.

"I'm not sleeping. I'm suspended in semiconscious fluid." River pushed herself into a sitting position and squinted at her. "Who're you?"

"Hey, baby," Uhura greeted, offering the girl a warm, friendly smile. "I'm Officer Uhura. You can just call my Nyota, if you like. I thought you might be lonely in here, all by yourself."

"It's hard to be alone on a big ship with so many voices," River mused abstractly. "You can hear them through the floor, if you open your ears, and they never stop talking."

Nyota paused and listened. She couldn't hear anything. The transportation bay was completely silent save for the faint, barely-audible sizzling hum of the electric lights. Shifting uncomfortably, the communications officer offered her a weak smile. "Uh-huh. I see." Nyota nodded. She'd heard that the girl wasn't quite all right upstairs, so she thought it might be best to just humour her.

River Tam rolled her eyes pointedly and flopped back down on her side on the transport pad.

"So," Nyota continued awkwardly. "Uh, I heard you had the pleasure of meeting Commander Spock?" River didn't say anything and instead began tracing her finger in circles along the stage. "How did you two get along?"

"Don't know about him," River muttered. "His head's opaque. Can't see inside. Every now and then something trivial slips out, but it's all… interlocking puzzle pieces sliding into place, reasons like numbers on a page, all data and no meaning. Don't know about him."

Nyota bit her lip and tried to decide how to respond to this. She took a breath. "A lot of people tend to be a little put off by his sort of aloof Vulcan personality, but inside he's really this sweet, caring guy."

River lifted her head and hitched an eyebrow at her. "_Really?_" She asked incredulously.

"Really," Nyota assured her, perking up. "At least… _I_ think he is."

"You _think_ he is," River repeated. She nodded to herself as if this confirmed something and laid her head back down. Nyota watched her closely for a moment and chose her next words carefully.

"You certainly are a… unique and unusual girl, River Tam. Where did you come from, baby?"

River glanced up at her, peered at Nyota for a moment and pushed herself into a sitting position, seeming to have decided something. She peered around the transporter bay and froze, listening intently to something only she could hear, then relaxed and motioned Nyota forward conspiringly. The communications officer kneeled down and leaned towards her, and River whispered as if she was divulging a deep secret.

"Once," she began, "there were two stars who lived in different galaxies, a red giant and a blue giant, two blazing balls of gas fixed in distant places in the sky. They fell in love, but they were destined to be forever apart. For millions of years their helium hearts were filled with sorrow as empires below them rose and fell. Kings were murdered, babies were born, witches burned at the stake. The gods took pity on them and devised a way to bring them closer. They began nudging their galaxies together, and a few hundred million years later—" River smacked her hands together, making Nyota jump—"They collided! The red giant and the blue giant smashed into one another, sending glowing fragments of fire hurtling across the galaxy, and in the bright, hot explosion, the fabric of the 'verse ripped open… and out came me." She giggled, shyly averting her eyes and looking down at the floor, her lips forming a dreamy, girlish grin. "One day, I'll turn back into a star like my parents and take my place in the cosmos. And I'll shine." She met Nyota with her gaze and nodded intently, eyes bright. "I'll shine the brightest of all the stars in the sky."

**…**

At Captain Kirk's order, Spock escorted the girl named River Tam to the spare guest quarters later that day. When he lowered the force field around the transport pad and led her into the hallway, she appeared fascinated by the ship's interior, peering around with the rapt, naïve curiosity of a small child, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. When they stepped into the elevator, the glowing elevator panel immediately drew River's attention. She innocently reached out to touch the brightly coloured buttons lit up on it. Spock's hand shot out and snatched her forearm to stop her. River cried out as if burned. He released her almost immediately, letting her slender, bony wrist slide out of his hand, but still she shot him an angry, hurt look and backed away as if he'd slapped her.

"I must advise you not to touch that," Spock said quietly. She glared, cradling her wrist limply, and didn't utter a sound for the rest of the ride. The elevator opened on their stop, and Spock ushered her briskly through another hall to the ship's guest quarters, where the doors slid open for her. Hesitantly, she peered inside, and her dark brown eyes widened in awe. She took a tentative step forward, her bare foot sinking into lush white carpet. Her eyes swept over the room before her, taking in the immaculate, late twenty-first century Earth furniture, the plush couches and armchairs with soft white upholstery, the solid glass coffee and end tables, the extra-large telescreen fixed upon the wall… On the coffee table in the center of the room was a transparent glass vase etched with intricate designs, which held delicate, exotic purple flowers that had been kept in storage for an appropriate occasion. Their strong, sweet scent wafted across the room. The flowers had been Nyota's idea, and putting River Tam in the guest quarters had been the Captain's. Spock was uncertain whether the guest quarters were appropriate for her, but, as Kirk had pointed out, it wasn't as if they had a wide variety of choices when it came to places to put her..

"_It's either there, or the cargo area," _the Captain had put it bluntly.

As if seeking some confirmation of what she was seeing, River ventured inside and began to trace the edges of her surroundings with her fingertips, running her hand over the sleek, smooth surface of the glass coffee table, flitting from one side of the room to the other and feeling the soft corner of a fat white pillow nestled in the crook of the couch. Spock knew he should leave her to adjust to her new setting and return to his duties on the bridge, but he could not help staying perhaps a moment longer than he should have, watching her. River Tam's behaviour was so strange and curious, the way she regarded everything—himself included—with an odd mix of childlike inquisitiveness and mature familiarity.

As Spock watched, River crawled onto the sofa and peered through the large reinforced glass window which separated them from the vacuum of space at the brilliant bright stars scattered outside, and as she peered at them, her face turned quiet, her eyes glassing over as if she were remembering something.

She was exceptionally odd, in Spock's opinion.

"I hope the room is to your liking."

River glanced up quickly as if she had forgotten he was there. She grabbed one of the fluffy white pillows off the couch absent-mindedly and clutched it to her chest like a security blanket, gazing around the room once again and peering through the curved archways leading to the bedroom and bathroom—which, at a glance, appeared equally luxurious. Her expression was quiet and forlorn. "To your right is the bathroom, and the bedroom is to your left, where you will find a closet," Spock continued, hoping she couldn't detect his sudden discomfort. "You may wish to shower and change into some more… appropriate garments."

River looked down in surprise, as if just realizing that the dress she was wearing was little more than a heap of dirty rags hanging off her thin body.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my duties aboard the bridge," Spock finished quickly, turning to leave.

"Commander Spock?" She spoke up suddenly. Her voice was high and thin like that of a child.

He paused. "Yes?"

"When are they going to let me go?" River asked, resting her chin on the pillow.

"To whom are you referring?"

River rolled her eyes up at him in an exaggerated fashion. "_You _know. _Them._" She jerked her head. "The uniforms you work for."

Spock stiffened. "If you are referring to the crew of the Enterprise, _we _are not holding you against your will," he said stiffly. "As for your question, if you are asking when you will be able to go home, we would be obliged to return you to your native planet, vessel, or star system as promptly as we are able, just as soon as you tell us where, exactly, that is—But as I have been informed, so far you have refused to answer any questions regarding that subject. Is that correct?"

River glowered darkly at him. "You sent in another uniform for the interrogation. You can't think I'd just—" she barked out a short, harsh laugh, "—answer to someone strange—a steeraange—a stranger, do you? I _know _what you're doing. Treat me like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty instead of Minnie Mouse like it was before, lock me in a tower with fluffy white pillows." She jumped to her feet, threw away the pillow she'd been holding with disgust, and aimed an accusing finger at him. "Pancakes instead of needles this time, huh? Well, you're not getting me to talk."

"Perhaps we should discuss this matter when you are feeling more reasonable," Spock suggested calmly.

"FUCK YOU!" River screamed, making him flinch. She snatched the glass vase sitting on the coffee table and hurled it against the floor before he could move to stop her. The vase burst and shattered into a spray of water and glass shards. "You're not getting at my brother! I'm not telling you anything!"

"I assure you, I have no interest in your brother," Spock said loudly, fighting to keep his voice even.

"_Liar!_" She shrieked, her expression contorting into manic rage. "_You're a liar! You're all liars! Your face lies to me every. Single. Minute!_"

Spock began to back out of the room slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the livid creature before him who seethed as if she were on the verge of attacking him. "Computer, lock the doors to the guest quarters!"

The sliding doors shot out and snapped shut on River Tam's furious face, and a beat later Spock heard a muffled, murderous cry from within, accompanied by a loud thud. Only then did he become aware that he was breathing heavily, and his heart was pounding in his chest. Copper-based blood laced with adrenaline coursed through his veins. Spock placed one hand shakily on the wall in front of him, palm flat against the cool, perfectly smooth white surface, his pale fingers spread wide. He bowed his head, feeling the gentle vibrations through the wall as the girl on the other side threw whatever objects she could get her hands on against it with passionate, angry force. He closed his eyes and willed his heart to return to its normal rate, standing there for one minute, then two, then three.

Finally, straightening, Spock turned and strode off to attend to his duties on the bridge. River's enraged screams followed him all the way down the hall.

**…**

* * *

_Author's note: Once again, I would like to issue a big thank you to the people who reviewed last chapter: fafinette, PlayKate, villainous, DXRULES103, Luminaires, jojobevco, mazuac, hpets, Taeriel, kissmekent, FireShifter, Whas'up, The Anonymous Authoress, RJ Lewis, .1, and chocolateriku. My apologies if I've missed anyone; I should be able to respond to your lovely feedback personally later this week. If I can't, know that I deeply appreciate it anyways! The fact that I have great readers out there definitely is what keeps me writing and motivates me to make this the best that I can. That, and my love for River and Spock. :P No small amount of love goes out to those who put this on their alert list and are silently encouraging me to keep going. You know who you are._

_Oh, and good news for all of us who loved JJ Abrams' Star Trek: 2009 (I'm just going to assume you do or you wouldn't be here): Word's out that there will definitely be a sequel. Plenty of Spock to go around._

_As usual, if you decide to leave feedback, it would really make my day and make me a happy little Trekling. :3  
_


	4. Placating Tones

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly..._

—"Blackbird", the Beatles

* * *

Glowing computer screens swam before Commander Spock's eyes, bright neon colours searing against his retinas. Numbers, figures, readouts, data, statistics, fuzzed around the edges and coalesced into a single blurred mass, then leapt out at him with startling clarity, only to sink back into indistinguishable haze once more. The various sounds surrounding him—the chatter of the other crew members on the bridge discussing the state of the warp core and the location of a faulty engine accelerator; the bleeping of the ship's computer, commenting on those conversations every now and again in its own electronic language; the barely-discernable yet omnipresent background hum of the Enterprise's warp core, which crept up through his boots and into his subconscious like the stray note of a song that played constantly in the back of his head—all these swelled and dulled into a distant, muffled blurb of sound, as if his ears were submerged underwater.

Spock blinked. His vision sharpened back into focus and reality crashed in once again. Silently, he berated himself for allowing his mind to wander; this was the third time since reassuming his duties aboard the bridge that he had allowed his attention to shift to… other matters. He returned to the task at hand, isolating the source of the problem with the faulty engine accelerator—but it was at that moment that Captain Kirk decided to come bounding through the sliding doors onto the bridge.

"Heeeeey, cadets!" He exclaimed, striding over to Uhura's station to peer rather intrusively over her shoulder. "Did everyone miss me?"

Uhura smiled good-naturedly. Across the room, Spock gritted his teeth. "Nice to see you again, Captain," she humoured him, then proceeded to more or less ignore Kirk as she continued with her work, waiting for him to lose interest in her. Eventually Kirk turned and made for Spock's station. To the half-Vulcan's utter dismay, the Captain flung his arm violently around Spock's shoulders and grinned jovially at him.

"And how are _you _doing, Commander Spock? River Tam giving you a run for your money yet? I heard some deranged screaming earlier—how's that going for you?"

Spock eyed the arm the Captain had wrapped around his shoulders with acute distaste then, happening to glance up, realized that everyone else on the bridge was very busy pretending not to be listening to them. "Nothing I can't handle, sir," Spock replied, looking Kirk in the eye.

"Good, good, glad to hear it. It's great we have someone who's just so _caring_ and _sensitive_ to take care of our little psycho." He removed the arm and used it to slap Spock on the back, hard, causing him to wince slightly. He _really _wished Kirk would stop doing that. The Captain apparently decided to leave his first officer alone for the time being as he took up his place in the captain's seat.

Spock turned back to his work, alternately staring at the readings in front of him and glaring at the back of Kirk's head. He glanced up to discover Uhura watching him with a concerned expression. She raised her eyebrows at him. He shook his head subtly at her and she returned to her duties, as did he, but for the next hour and a half, Spock failed to make any progress in isolating the problem with the faulty accelerator. Distracting thoughts continued to creep into the back of his mind. He wondered if he'd been honest with Kirk, if he was really capable of handling River Tam's erratic behaviour. But that was absurd—she was only a girl, no more than a child really, suffering from the temper tantrums that human children, with their unruly and under-disciplined emotions, were often subject to. On the other hand, it was clear to him that she was also severely mentally disturbed. She had her lucid periods, such as when he'd brought her breakfast earlier and she'd shown herself capable of carrying on a conversation, and at times she appeared unthreatening and entirely harmless, but inevitably she would lapse back into hysteria. It was impossible to fathom at this point what made her behave the way she did—Spock was not a psychiatric professional, and he was ill-equipped to deal with her psychosis, yet the Captain had assigned him to her care, no doubt out of some misguided attempt to provoke annoyance and frustration from him. Regardless, whether he was the best person to assign to the task of watching over River Tam was irrelevant; for the time being, he was responsible for her. He wondered if he'd made an error by leaving her alone in her quarters to attend to his duties. He'd had no other option, really; it was futile attempting to talk or reason with her while she was having one of her violent outbursts, and she presented no danger to the rest of the crew while locked in the guest quarters, but still, he had left her in considerable distress. What if she became a danger to _herself? _If she managed, deliberately or accidentally, to inflict harm upon herself, it would make _him_ appear neglectful and irresponsible. With his luck, she had probably already attempted suicide by now—but no, it was senseless to assume the worst. Spock refused to contemplate the matter any longer.

The rest of his shift passed in a haze. When a Lieutenant finally came to relieve him of duty, Spock relinquished his station having failed to make any real accomplishments. Numbly, he exited the bridge and strode into the hall, head down, eyes fixed on the floor—and crashed straight into a passing crew member. Spock heard the sound of something clatter brittlely to the floor. "Commander Spock!" A woman gasped in surprise. He jerked his head up and realized he'd collided into the blonde cadet that managed to beat him to the Replicator every morning, causing her to drop the digital handheld touchscreen she'd been holding. Spock bent down and retrieved it for her.

"My apologies," he said faintly, passing her the handheld. She accepted it but continued to stare at him strangely. Spock became vaguely aware that the crew members who regularly trawled up and down the hall had stopped to eye him peculiarly, and only then did he realize how odd his carelessness must have seemed to them. At the moment, however, this was of no consequence to him. "I must be going," he muttered distractedly, and strode off, leaving the blonde cadet staring after him.

When he reached the elevator, Spock pushed the button for the guest level with unnecessary force, and the ride itself seemed absurdly long. A terrible sense of urgency had overtaken him. The possibility that he had underestimated River Tam's instability weighed heavily on his mind, and he felt it imperative he see her immediately, if only to abate these ridiculously illogical fears that plagued him. What would Captain Kirk and the rest of crew think of him if he had failed in his duty to take care of her? He could already picture the expression on Kirk's smug face…

He marched briskly from the elevator down the hall and halted in front of the door to River's quarters. His heart rate was above normal. He could feel the adrenaline again, burning in his veins. How inconvenient the autonomous nervous system could be at times, acting without his conscious input… Spock pushed the doorbell. No reply. He rapped his knuckles loudly on the door and paused, straining his ears for some response, some sort of welcome indication that he was being ridiculous, but was met with only silence.

_I should have comforted her, _he thought suddenly. The idea had only just occurred to him. He had no notion of how he would have gone about it, but Spock realized that he should have reassured her, consoled her somehow, offered her a few calming words—done _something _other than left her the way she was.

"Computer, unlock the doors to River Tam's quarters!"

The doors parted for him obediently and Spock stepped inside. He swept his gaze quickly over the mess spread out before him. The glass coffee table had been overturned, the fluffy white pillows taken from the couches and armchair and split open along their fat bellies. A soft coating of feathers littered the carpet, and the ruined pillows lay in feathery heaps on the rug like dying birds. Shards of the broken glass vase lay where River had hurled it against the rug, and the bedraggled purple flowers, now limp and wilted, were scattered among pieces of glass that glinted wetly with… _blood?_

Spock's breath caught in his throat. His eyes traced the trail of bright red blotches soaked into the white carpet, leading into the bedroom. "River?" He tried. Silence. He took a pace forward, and the crunch of glass under his boot was obscenely loud in the choked hush of the empty room. He fought valiantly to stifle the horrible sense of anticipation rising in his chest and lost. Spock took another step forward, feeling as if his mind and body had parted ways and he were floating across the room rather than walking, following the trail of blood…

A quiet, thin voice met him halfway across the room. "That's me on the floor there, you know," mumbled River Tam's voice faintly. "In pieces."

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

Spock found her lying on her side on her bed in a heap, wrinkled white bedsheets twisted like snakes around her, back turned towards him. The room was dark, its only light coming from the glow of the stars through the window above her bed. The blood trail ended at the foot of the bed and resumed on the sheets, where a deep gash in River's right foot shone with it afresh. "There was a girl with a glass unicorn," she murmured sleepily. "She had a whole zoo of glass animals, pretty little pieces of her soul, but the unicorn was her favourite. One day its horn broke and she shattered and her brother left her." She jerked up, twisted her head, and met him with her eyes, which were round and wide and pained in the darkness. "People keep trying to glue me back together, but I always break again."

He swallowed. "You are injured."

River turned away from him again and laid her head back down on the pillow. "Your powers of deduction astound. Go away," she said bitterly.

"I can't do that." He took a few more tentative steps forward. "May I—?"

"You can try to fix me all you want, it's not going to work," she interrupted morosely. Spock took this as permission enough and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"You are not going to die," he responded dryly. River didn't as much as twitch as he gently took her foot in his hands and examined the cut. "This is why it is customary in most cultures to wear footwear," Spock remarked.

"You can't hear or feel or smell anything with your shoes on," River muttered. She was quiet for a moment as the Commander examined her injury. "I got blood all over your nice white carpet, didn't I?"

"That's not my foremost concern at the moment," he said dismissively. "Fortunately there doesn't appear to be any glass embedded in the wound, but you'd better report to sickbay and have Doctor McCoy bandage your foot. Can you walk?" He rose from the bed, prompt and businesslike. River rolled over onto her back to gaze at him miserably. "Come. I'll assist you." Stiffly, he offered her his hand. She looked at him for a moment longer, perhaps contemplating whether she should comply or throw another violent fit. Apparently, for once, her common sense won out. River took Spock's outstretched palm and allowed him to haul her from the bed to her feet. She perched on her left foot, holding her right off the ground awkwardly. Spock wrapped his arm around her back and proceeded to guide her through the archway and across the messy room, steering her away from the rest of the broken glass. River took small hops to avoid putting weight on her injury and didn't look at him, focusing on the ground instead. Their gait was clumsy and slow and he felt terribly uncomfortable, but Spock knew this was necessary.

When they were halfway down the hall, they were forced to stop as River caught her breath. Spock supported her as she leaned against the wall, panting slightly. Even through her ragged dress, he could feel the bones in her back, the knobbly ridges of her spine and ribs sliding beneath his hands as her upper torso expanded gently with each breath. She was really much too skinny for a girl of her age…

"Hey," River said suddenly, eyeing Spock with curiosity. "You're not tired."

Spock thought it best to wait until a later opportunity to explain the physiological advantages of being half Vulcan. "I don't tire easily," he offered simply instead. "Are you ready to continue?"

She nodded. They resumed their slow, clumsy gait towards the elevator, and when the doors slid open for them River was allowed another short rest as Spock thumbed the button for the sickbay. As they waited, he glanced down and noticed the fresh trail of blood River had left in her wake and realized her wound had reopened. "Are you… all right?" He asked hesitantly.

"Been better, been worse," she replied vaguely.

Halfway down the hall leading to sickbay they came face to face with Pavel Chekov traipsing in the opposite direction, and the young Ensign stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them, eyes widening almost comically in surprise. "Commander?"

"What are you doing here, Ensign?" Spock demanded peevishly. Being forced to explain his current unpleasant situation to Chekov was one of the last things he was eager to do at the moment. "Shouldn't you be attending to your duties on the bridge?" He urged River along and pushed past the young crewman, but Chekov began to follow them as they laboured down the hall.

"I vas just in for a check-up. Ees this the girl?" He asked eagerly. "Vhat happened? Can I help?"

"Yes, in fact. Help me get River to sickbay. She's injured herself and she needs assistance."

"I cut my foot," River explained plainly as Chekov slid his arm around her waist obligingly, ducking to allow her to put her arm around his shoulders. He glanced down at River's injured foot, blood trailing behind her, and the Ensign's face paled noticeably. "Don't worry. Commander Spock says I'm not gonna die."

"Ah… you seem to be taking it wery vell," Chekov observed. To Spock's surprise, River giggled girlishly.

"Been worse. You got a name?"

"Pavel Chekov."

"River Tam. Nice to meet you."

They moved considerably quicker with Chekov's assistance. Spock felt inclined to comment on the irony of how River seemed to be at her most lucid while she was conversing with the young Ensign, despite the fact that her foot was gashed open and bleeding, but he chose not to say anything. Finally, the doors to sickbay swished open for them, and River glanced up and peered within. Pupils dilating, she caught a glimpse of the interior—sickbeds lined up along the walls, Doctor McCoy standing at the medical bay—and uttered a small, horrified gasp. She staggered backwards in their arms and accidentally stepped back on her injured foot, yelped in pain, and collapsed altogether, forcing Spock and Chekov to catch her.

"Noooo… no more needles!" River moaned, cupping her face in her hands. "Don't make me go back in there! I can't, I can't go back, don'tmakemegoback, Iwon'tgoback!"

"Mees Tam?" Chekov exclaimed, alarmed, glancing up at Spock in dismay. "What's wrong with her, Commander?"

"It appears she has a fear of medical environments," Spock replied calmly. River's hands flailed out and caught Spock and Chekov by the front of theirs shirts, yanking them closer.

"I _won't _go back!" She hissed fiercely. "No more tests. No more needles. _No more!_"

"The doctor needs to bandage your foot injury," Spock tried to explain, but she placed her palms squarely on Spock and Chekov's chests and shoved them away with enough force to send the Ensign and the Commander stumbling, forcing them to release her.

"Get _away _from me!" She yelled, backing away like a cornered animal, her face a twisted mask of pain, panic and rage. At that moment Doctor McCoy emerged from the doors to sickbay, a disgruntled frown creasing his face.

"What that _hell _is going on out here?" The doctor demanded loudly, surveying the scene before him with displeasure. "How am I supposed to get any _work _done with people screaming outside my—"

"River Tam is in need of medical attention," Spock said loudly over him.

McCoy glanced at the gibbering girl hobbling on one foot in the hall, who Chekov was desperately trying to placate, without success. "_Please, _Mees Tam, you're hurt, you need help," he pleaded, taking her wrist.

"_No!_" River shrieked.

"Yeah, _I'll _say," McCoy grunted. "Keep her here, I'll get a sedative," he instructed, turning to go.

"_No!_" River screamed, louder. Wrenching free of Chekov's grasp, she curled her thin, brittle fingers into a fist and—to everyone's alarm—punched him squarely in the jaw. Her sudden panicked strength knocked the young Ensign off his feet and sent him sprawling. She was standing on both feet now, wincing in pain, a small puddle of blood pooling beneath her right foot. "I'm not going in there," she choked, sobbing angrily, leveling a glare at Spock, her eyes ablaze. "I'm not."

"Wait," Spock ordered McCoy. Turning to River, he held up his hand. "Wait," he repeated. He lowered his voice. "Doctor McCoy and I only aim to help you. The doctor merely needs to bandage your foot," he said calmly, gazing steadily into her wide, frightened eyes, using his most practical tone. "I can assure you there will be no tests and no needles involved. Under his Hippocratic oath, Doctor McCoy is sworn to do no harm, and he will not do anything to you without your consent." Spock held her eyes for a moment longer as River stood, shaking slightly, watching him warily, and for a moment the half-Vulcan felt a tenuous flicker of hope that, for the first time, she might trust him.

"Doctor," he addressed McCoy, "Can you bandage River's foot outside of the sickbay?"

The doctor nodded stiffly. "I'll get my medkit." He strode back inside, doors hissing shut behind him.

"You do not have to enter the sickbay if you're not comfortable to," Spock said quietly. "Will you let us help you?"

Miraculously, River finally seemed to relax somewhat, and he could see the violence, the deliriousness, the rage and the panic, slowly beginning to drain out of her, until all that was left of the enraged creature he had seen a moment before was a pale, frightened girl, who eyed him only with a sort of sad wariness. She swallowed and slowly began to nod.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

* * *

_Author's note: So this update is a little late compared to the last chapters, but since school is incredibly hectic for me right now updates are going to be relatively sporadic from here on in._

_Since the cat is thoroughly out of the bag as to who our "psycho girl" is, a little background information for those of you who aren't familiar with River Tam: River is a character from am amazing television series called _Firefly, _directed by Joss Whedon, which garnered a massive fan following despite the fact that it was cancelled after only twelve episodes by the Foxnazis. She was played by the wonderful actress Summer Glau, and you can get an idea of what, exactly, the Enterprise is dealing with by checking out the "River Tam sessions" on Youtube. ;) River also appeared in the movie follow-up to the series, "Serenity."_

_As always, I want to thank my amazing readers and those who reviewed last chapter - villainous, Fair Trade Organic, Red Tigress, Cebaje, fafinette, hpets, PlayKate, DXRULES102, beautiful dreamere, Juliethebold, FireShifter, Wei Ai Shen, Neurotic-Isopod, BeshterAngelus, B. J. Sanders, Snowspell, and Hidden Relevance. You guys rock. Seriously._


	5. Alien

_Ouch—I have lost myself again;_

_Lost myself, and I am nowhere to be found_

_Yeah I think that I might break_

_Lost myself again and I feel unsafe…_

—"Breathe Me", Sia

* * *

River, Spock and McCoy stumbled all the way down to the mess hall, where the doctor claimed there was good lighting and he'd be able to bandage River's foot in a relatively sterile environment. It was still three hours until the rest of the Enterprise's crew would be let off duty for the rest of the "evening", so they had ample time before the crew would begin filing in for dinner. As for the poor, forgotten teenage Ensign lying in the hall with a bloodied lip, McCoy had hauled him to his feet and advised Chekov to wait in sickbay until he could return and make sure he still had all of his teeth.

"I'm still not certain this is advisable," Spock remarked as he helped Doctor McCoy lift River onto the counter in the mess hall's kitchen. The girl had been dead quiet since agreeing to cooperate with them. "For most, the sight of blood is usually not conducive to one's appetite."

"You got a better idea, Mister Spock?" McCoy grunted, placing his medkit beside her on the counter and flipping open the lid. "We need a clean place with good light and running water. And, oh yeah—no people for her to flip out on. Besides us, of course."

"We _could _bandage her in your quarters, Doctor," Spock suggested, quirking one eyebrow.

"Or yours," McCoy shot back. "But then I guess you'd have to live with bloodstains all over the carpet of that undoubtedly neat, orderly room of yours. Get that towel over there and soak it in warm water," he instructed. "How did this happen, anyway?" The doctor grumbled, examining River's cut.

Spock glanced over his shoulder as he twisted the hot water tap on the kitchen sink. "I'm not certain as to exactly how it happened, as I wasn't present at the time, but I believe she shattered a glass vase in her room and accidentally stepped on one of the pieces. Is that correct, River?"

River stared ahead blankly in silence.

"Shouldn't someone have been watching her? Aren't you the one who's supposed to be looking out for her, _Commander?_" McCoy demanded, accepting the warmed towel from Spock. Bending down, he gently dabbed a corner of the towel around the edges of River's cut, cleaning the dried blood off her foot. Spock saw her wince in pain and bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying out.

"I have other duties on this ship besides the care of River Tam," Spock responded coolly, keeping his eyes trained on the girl's pained face, alert in case of another outburst. "I cannot keep her under constant supervision any more than I can predict her…" He paused, searching for an appropriate term. "Mood swings," he finished.

River glanced up sharply and fixed him with a hard, dark glare, and Spock froze. Her gaze was full of an anger and pain that he was unable to articulate, roiling just beneath the shadowy surface. "You don't know," she began slowly, her voice wavering with barely-contained emotion, "What it's like… to be…" She seemed to lose her words and glanced down, as if she'd dropped them on the floor, casting around in herself trying to find them again, eyes flicking back and forth. The doctor was occupied with retrieving an antiseptic solution from his medkit, removing a small, brightly coloured plastic bottle and twisting open the lid.

"I don't know what, Miss Tam?" Spock coaxed placidly. His tone contained a certain ironic level of casual disaffection that, under the circumstances, almost might have been mistaken for amusement. Meanwhile, Bones was busily wetting a cotton ball in the disinfectant solution.

"I have to warn you, sweetheart, this is going to sting," Bones informed her mildly. Ignoring him, River kept her attention on the half-Vulcan's face and dragged her voice out from wherever it had gotten lost inside her.

"You talk like you know everything there is in this 'verse to know, but you don't. You don't know what it's like to be lost, to be broken and…." Her words were a restrained sob, cut off abruptly by her own yelp of pain as the doctor dabbed at her foot with the cotton ball. She jerked instinctively, but not hard enough to wrench her foot out of McCoy's grasp.

"Whoa—it's okay," he soothed. "It's alright. You're going to be fine."

Thick, dark tears squeezed their way out of the corners of the girl's eyes and slid heavily down the sides of her cheeks. "No, I won't," River whispered, and Spock was forced to look away. Quietly the doctor consoled her as he finished cleaning and bandaging her cut, low, meaningless words muttered in a soothing tone. River Tam did not seem to be in particular need of logic at the moment, and so Spock stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back, observing silently, awkwardly, useless.

**…**

McCoy advised River to avoid putting weight on her injured foot for the next week or so while it healed, to avoid reopening the wound. Until then, she'd need assistance walking—and, the doctor added, in the future she might consider wearing a nice, practical pair of shoes to prevent further injuries such as this one.

Spock and River ate their dinners early in the mess hall to avoid the evening rush and save him the hassle of bringing her meal to her quarters. The two sat opposite each other in silence at Spock's preferred table. Doctor McCoy had vanished, informing them that he had work to do and had to go check on Chekov.

Spock ate, empty quiet of the mess hall magnifying the sound of his fork clinking against his plate. River picked at her food morosely with the plastic fork he'd given her. Instead of consuming the impeccably nutritious items on her plate Spock had replicated for her, River seemed preoccupied with staring, unblinkingly, at him for a good fifteen minutes as he ate, during which she did not utter a sound, and _he, _in turn, did a very good job of ignoring her.

"Your ears are pointed."

This blunt observation caught him mid-bite. Spock finished chewing, swallowed, took a polite sip of ice water, and fixed her with an impenetrable stare to counter her vaguely discomforting, unreadable one. He might have arched an eyebrow at her, were he not highly accustomed to these sorts of remarks from his years of being one of the few Vulcans at Starfleet Academy, later becoming the only Vulcan aboard the Enterprise.

"Did this detail," he said slowly, "only just come to your attention?"

River blinked. "No."

"Well, then."

She frowned, scrutinizing him. "You sit too straight. Your ears are pointed. Your face is made of stone and I can't read past it. What's wrong with you?"

The forkful of mashed potatoes froze in midair and hovered halfway to Spock's mouth. "Excuse me?" He said quietly.

"What's. Wrong. With. You?" River sounded out for him.

Setting his fork down on his tray, he responded in his calmest, smoothest tone. "I am of half Vulcan heritage. My father is a full-blooded Vulcan. Does that answer your question, _Miss _Tam?"

"And just what in the 'verse is a Vulcan, Mister Spock?" She asked, angling her head towards him so a few stray locks of lank hair fell over her face. Spock wondered idly if she was playing some sort of juvenile game with him, but he responded calmly just the same.

"We are—or were—the people of the planet Vulcan. We come from a culture and a civilization much older than that of the people of the planet Earth, where I assume your ancestry lies. We believe in approaching situations with rationality and logic rather than instinct and emotion."

River goggled at him a moment longer before breaking into a sudden silly grin, taking him by surprise. She giggled, shaking her head back and forth, leaned forward and dropped her voice to a low whisper, as if she were divulging someone else's embarrassing secret. "There ain't no such thing as _aliens,_" she admonished.

Stiffening, Spock frowned deeply, more out of bemusement than offense at the archaic racial epithet. For a moment he found himself at a sudden loss for words. What could be said to someone who denied a fundamental truth? How was he to correct a girl who was so devoid of her basic mental faculties that she believed the _Homo sapiens _species was still alone in the universe? Spock thought for a moment, then, looking up, locked eyes with her, and leaned forward in a stiff parody of her conspiratorial manner. "I assure you," he said quietly, "there are."

Her smile lingered, as if he were playing a joke on her and she expected him to deliver the punch line at any moment, then slowly faded into a look of confusion. "But that's… You're…" She searched his face, staring at him in bewilderment. "No!" She gasped. "We looked for you. We looked and looked and looked. We poked in dark corners—our voices went where our boats couldn't. Millions of voices, all reaching out, and we said…"

She swallowed, and her eyes flicked to the window beside their table, where a mist of stars floated in the aether, and her eyes widened, her mouth gaping with some distant breathtaking memory (or delusion.) Her next words were a faint singsong. "And we said, 'We are here!' Millions of voices, all crying out, _We are here! We are here! _Are we alone, are we alone? We are alive, and we are living, and we are destroying, and we are building, and _we are here…_" She shook her head again and barked out a strange little laugh of amusement and sorrow, of disbelief. "No one ever answered."

Silence descended upon them. Spock sat and tried to gather his swirling, disjointed thoughts, attempting to piece together some sense out of what the girl was telling him. Her story sounded so passionate and convincing, reminiscent of the period of Earth's history after the invention of radio technology, characterized by the deep yearning for First Contact that most sentient races experienced; SETI, the space race, Roswell and other desperate fantasies. Was it possible that she came from a world unaware of the existence of species other than humans? No, it was absurd. Even the most obscure Earth colony would know of Starfleet and its purpose, the invention of father-than-light travel, the other species in the galaxy that had made contact with humans, which now numbered in the hundreds… Spock shook himself mentally. He was supposed to be watching her to ensure she wasn't posing a threat to herself or the crew, not indulging in her silliness. River Tam's tale was another product of her disturbed mind, nothing more.

Nevertheless, he supposed it could do little harm to humour her…

"In that case, this would, hypothetically, make our meeting an occasion of first contact, would it not?" The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. Slowly, he raised his right hand and parted his fingers in the traditional Vulcan greeting.

"River Tam, we come in peace."

River's eyelids fluttered. Spock ignored her astonished expression and returned to his meal.

**…**

Grease.

It had been so long since Scotty's hands were covered in actual _grease. _Water-based plasma coil lubricant, sure—but it had been a good while since he'd touched real grease. A person'shands weren't likely to get very dirty, working on a pretty, elegant lassie like the Enterprise—and Scotty loved her, that was for sure—but already his hands were slick with the stuff as he poked around in the engine of the little vessel the Enterprise has tractored in after beaming aboard its sole occupant, trying to figure out how she worked. The smell of it—dark and rich and dirty—was making him a little giddy. She was a quaint old girl, held together with mismatched parts but otherwise well taken care of, aside from the fact that her fuel cells had been blown and most of her circuitry shorted. What had caused this, Scotty wasn't yet sure.

Captain Kirk strode into the cargo bay just as Scotty had finished looking her over and was toweling the grease off his hands with a spare rag. "Well, what can you tell me about the ship, Scotty?" Kirk asked, getting straight to the point.

"Lovingly held together with spit an' duct tape, Cap'n," he replied cheerfully. "Prolly an escape shuttle, by my guess. Certainly not meant for long distance flights, that's for sure. Oh, an' get this," he smirked. "She runs on contained nuclear power."

"_Nuclear?_" Kirk repeated incredulously.

"Oh, I _know, _right?" Scotty grinned. "She woulda been a top of the line, state-of-the-art kinda lassie about two hundred years ago. Junk now, though, I'm sorry to say. Fuel cells and circuitry completely shot. Looks like some sort of massive power surge did her in. _I _could get her back workin' again, o'course, though there inn'it much point."

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest. "This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. Do you have any idea where she _comes from, _Scotty?"

Scotty grinned again, polishing the last of the grease off his hands. "Not a bloody clue, Cap'n."

**...**

* * *

_Author's note: Summer! I'm almost - almost - finished with school and I finally get to relax and maybe get a little more writing done. On Wednesday I'm going on holiday with my family, though, so I can't promise anything for the next ten days or so._

_As always, tons of love to my readers and reviewers - if you guys are still out there and haven't forgotten about this story by now, in any case. Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter four; DXRULES103, Snowspell, RJ Lewis, FireShifter, Vulcanvamp, villainous, fafinette, MoonyMoonsault, PlayKate, Fair Trade Organic, Sulimeth, Pheonixfire979, Alison the Eccentric, and Buffy Sparrow. Also - special thanks to FireShifter for giving me a kick in the butt and reminding me to update._

_If you've got comments, suggestions, or criticisms, as usual, I'd love to hear it. Also, I'll be placing this story in the "Crossovers" section once it's finished. 'Till then, you can tell your Firefly friends who love River and Star Trek that they might dig this. ;)  
_


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